


speechless

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, M/M, Modern AU, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras loves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	speechless

Enjolras loves it.

There is pretty much nothing short of political revolution more exciting to him than the prospect of his Grantaire, his drunk, his cynic who was never left without speech, gasping and writhing beneath him, completely at a loss for coherent thoughts.

As he is currently.

His dark curls lay scattered across the pillows, his straining fists are clenched in the sheets beneath him, his eyes are screwed gloriously shut, and his mouth is open. Spilling from it are gasps for breath, obscene moans, and honest to god _whimpers_ that would have had Enjolras fucking him so hard he saw stars long ago if he didn’t enjoy his boyfriend’s current state so goddamned much. 

Enjolras has had two slicked fingers in him for a while, twisting, pushing, fucking them exactly where he knows Grantaire wants (and dreads) them. Grantaire is twisting, bending, writhing, doing everything possible to get himself even a centimeter closer to him. 

Which makes the golden boy smirk, even as his lips and teeth are teasing at the skin of Grantaire’s thigh.

“Pl-please, Enj, _fuck_ , jesus christ, oh, god…” A single measure in the chorus of Grantaire’s pleading, Enjolras’ absolute favorite symphony.

“Please, what?” He asks pointedly. His voice is calm, collected, and teasing, almost as if his cock hasn’t been straining painfully against his boxers for the past half hour.

A few more attempts at words, “you fucking bastard, fuck-“ cut off with a whimper as Enjolras twists his fingers in the worst (best) way.

“Come on, you’re so good with words.”

“Apollo,” Grantaire growls, his teeth gritted. “Fuck, just give me-“

“Give you what?”

“ _More_.”

Enjolras looks up at him. His lips are red and swollen, possibly from Enjolras’ rough kisses and possibly from his own teeth gnawing at them, and this time his eyes are open, the pupils dilated so he can barely see a rim of green around the black, and staring at him helplessly.

“Why should I?”

Grantaire groans and Enjolras feels it, straight down to his cock. It looses a barrier in his mind and all of a sudden he can’t stop talking.

“Maybe I like this. Maybe I fucking love this, seeing you writhe and moan and whimper and beg just to get closer to me,” an involuntary shiver from Grantaire, “and now you’re begging for more.” He punctuates the word with the thrust of the third finger he’s been begging for.

“Enj- Apollo, _oh_ , holy fuck-“

“And that.”

“What?” Breathless.

Enjolras curls his fingers up, making Grantaire’s hips arch up and tearing a pathetic whimper from his lips, and he nearly growls. “I love being the only one who can leave you speechless.”

A strangled moan forces it’s way past Grantaire’s lips. He’s pissed, he’s exasperated, and jesus christ, he just wants Apollo to fuck him already, but those words put a warmth in his belly that has nothing to do with his aching cock. He would never tell Enjolras, but he loves it too, loves that there is only one person in the world who can leave him at a loss for words, and only one person who cares to. His golden Apollo.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” he spits at the other boy, the only coherent thought he’s been able to express in a while. 

Enjolras considers not doing it, just teasing him for a while longer, but his cock begs to differ. It’s maybe three seconds before his boxers are on the other side of the room and his fingers are replaced with his cock.

Grantaire is positive that he’s going to die immediately. He is positive that no mere mortal can stand how amazing this feels, and he’s waiting for his life to end at any second, and he decides that since he’s fucked (literally and figuratively) anyway, he might as well go out with a bang (or at least an orgasm), and his hips thrust against Enjolras’ thrusts as well as they can as his fingernails rake down his boyfriend’s back harshly.

Enjolras has buried his face in Grantaire’s neck, licking, biting, sucking, marking, and it is an innate reaction when he breathes out in the shape of the other boy’s name. His voice is no longer teasing, no longer calm or collected, but almost reverent as he tears him apart.

Grantaire is most definitely tearing apart. He swears he can physically feel every single seam holding him together collectively unfurl as Enjolras moves from simply thrusting to absolutely fucking him. His hands hold on tight to the other boy’s shoulders, gripping to hold on to one thing while everything else is falling apart.

Enjolras falls apart as well. He is whispering sweet and dirty nothings against his lover’s skin as he explodes, spilling inside Grantaire, and Grantaire gives them right back to him, albeit much louder, as he obliterates without even having been touched.

It’s a long time before Enjolras pulls out of him, carefully, and sinks into the mattress beside him.

Despite his exhaustion, Enjolras reaches out immediately, pulling Grantaire towards him. The dark-haired boy’s head rests against his chest as Enjolras’ arms go around his waist securely. 

Neither of them will be letting go tonight.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras breathes, realizing he must have said it about a hundred times in the past hour. It’s soft and quiet.

Grantaire hums in response, tilting his head up slightly and prying open his sleepy eyes.

Enjolras kisses him. Their lips are rough and bruised and red and swollen, but neither of them mind. Grantaire’s body melts into his and they stay like that for a long while before they pull apart.

“Tired,” Grantaire murmurs as he resumes his previous position.

Enjolras chuckles.

“I love you,” he mumbles, and the phrase is tired and happy as he presses his lips into wild curls.

“I love you too,” says the cynic sleepily.

They drift into sleep and into each other.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first e/r work i actually care to show anyone alSO i don't even know how to work this site  
> thank you for reading ;w;


End file.
